SHE GRABBED MY HAND AND LIFTED ME UP WHEN I REALLY NEEDED IT

 The Melodies of Rock of ages was flooding my thoughts that morning. This is a well scented song that mum loved to sing before she went to bed. It sounds so good and original in my Kikuyu dialect (Ihiga ria tene ma, ninguihitha hariwe)- Rock of ages cleft for me, let me hide myself in thee. I was a Form IV student and we were getting ready for Mock Exams. I could rarely concentrate on books this fateful morning because the melodies in my mind were far much fun that the Chemical puzzles on my chemistry book. Anyway, Mondays are always lazy days to many people. I like being among these people. It such an irony that today Mondays are mostly my off days.
Anyway, to make the short story long, this Monday was unlike others. I was invaded my this sorrowful and eschatological song that made me miss my mum so much. Secondly, it was my turn to select a biblical verse and read it at the school assembly that morning. I am a Gospel fanatic. And I love the Gospel of John. But this morning instincts drove me to read from Ecclesiates 7:2 –3 … “It is better to go to the house of mourning than to the house of feasting, for that is the end of every mortal, and the living should take it to heart….”
I am not here to preach friends, I am here to simply narrate one of my memoirs. After the school assembly we went to class. English was the first lesson on Monday. It was actually a double lesson. Before the lesson began a form one student walked to my desk. I can’t remember his name. What is a Form I student doing in a Form IV class this early? And why is he coming to me? Is he borrowing a pen or a book or something? It is free to be kind. As I always do, I smiled and listened to him. “Pastor, Unaitwa na Father Titus  kwa ofisi yake– Pastor Father Titus is calling you to his office. Well, Pastor was my High School nickname. I loved to at serve mass and lead prayers. For those who may not know I went to a minor seminary for my high school. We had daily Mass and the Liturgy of hours. We went to the School chapel three times in a day. Do you know how many times I went in that chapel in four years? I got no reason to go to hell. I really don’t. Even purgatory we must negotiate.
When I was heading up to Fr. Titus’s office I was flooded with thousands of questions. Why is he calling me in his office? Am I in some sort of trouble? Did I select a wrong reading? I did not have any fee balance. It is not his duty to inquire about the fee balance. Here I am knocking at his office door. He let me in. “Oh Samuel, you did the scripture reading this morning, right? He recalled. Of course I did. He asked me mention anything I remembered from the random verse. I quoted it excellently. I do have very good memories, except when I have to do an exam.
He mentioned to me that I was urgently needed at home. And I must leave for home immediately. That was tremendously shocking. Why the urgency? We did not have any scheduled family gatherings or wedding or anything of the sort. I knew something was terribly wrong. I expected some very sad news. Believe me, no good news would afford to have me sent home. I remembered the scripture reading from Ecclesistes 7;2 –“It is better to go the house of mourning than to the house of feasting.” Here I am getting ready to go to a possible house of mourning. Please God help me.
My school was at Baraka near Molo. I was walking towards Mau Summit as I wait to board the next matatu – bus. It was not easy to get a car for Londiani, my home town then. I had to get those buses bound for kisii and alight at Londiani Junction, or those heading to Total. Anyway, I happened to be lucky. I boarded a fourteen sitter bus, but we were like twenty four. This was very normal. I was actually grateful to the driver for being kind to me even though I could hardly breath. My whole  back or two third of my body was outside. I could feel all the strong wind waves.
The bus dropped me at Londiani Junction. Londiani town is some three kilometres from the Junction. And my home is ten kilometres from the Junction. In 2005 there were very few motorbikes. I found none at that time. I was in no hurry anyway. I never knew what was ahead of me. I opted to walk. I had walked them ten kilometers hundreds times before.
When I got to Londiani town I met with people from my village. They were so sympathetic. Some avoided me. They did not know how to break the news. Some were like: Kumbe Umeskia habari, pole sana – so you got the news, I am very sorry. Why are they sorry? What is the news? This was extremely frustrating. I had to be brave and ask a person familiar  to me to break the news. I was luck to meet with a friend and a distant relative called Karanja.
“Hey Karanja, everyone is telling me sorry and that I should take courage…. What the heck is going on? I asked him.
“Sam, if you are not aware yet, I am not the one to tell you, sorry.” He said as he hurriedly walked away.
Now this is scary. I am panicking. My knees were growing weak. It seems to me that someone dear to me must have passed. Who could this be? I avoided to imagine. Everyone at home matters. I need everyone alive. Life is a precious gift. It seems one is no longer with us. He or she, or them, are with the Lord. One thing I was sure was that it was not me. Why is this happening to me on a Monday morning? Why should it happen at all? I have for four years gone to Church thrice a day. I deserve all the favors.
I finally met this man from the village. What is his name? I just can’t remember his name. He was riding a bicycle from Kamuingi, my village to Londiani Town. I was walking home near Kenya Forestry College Road. I was not even near half way home. This guys broke the news in a rather impolite way. Anyway he did it. He was honest. I saw him feel it. He would have probably embraced me with a consoling hug was it not for the bicycle he was clinging on. It was my MUM. My one and only mum had gone to be with the Lord. She went to join the company of angels and Saints in Heaven.
This did not sink in me immediately. Everything was like a dream or imaginations. How can I believe mum is no more. She was never sick. She has been strong and healthy. And if indeed she had passed, what is the cause? No, No, No, as the reality sank deep into my system, tears of melancholy were flowing down my cheeks for real. I had used phrase “tears of melancholy” in every composition I wrote. This time it was practical. It was real. Can you imagine walking alone in a 10 Kilometers stretch on a hot midday sun, and receiving the horrible news of losing a mother. No one to wipe my tears away. No one to hug me. No one at least to be with me. This guy broke the news and left. I was all by myself trying to handle me. Trying to help me. I just needed a human presence. Even a stranger. The sun was merciless. It was roasting my head up. My joints and muscles got weak and I sat almost in the middle of the road crying almost hysterically.
I think her name is Teresa. She was ahead of me in primary school. I knew her pretty well. She was walking from town to our village. She noticed me. May God bless her. She  grabbed my hand and lifted me up. She held my hand and assured me its gonna be fine. I may have infected her with grief. We were both took turns to cry. We slowly walked. In what seemed like a decade I finally got myself home. I finally got my self in what King Solomon in his Ecclesiastes thought was better. I got myself in a home full of grief, pain and mourning. Helplessness. Anxiety. Fear. Grief. Angst. Despair. Death.